


Interim

by ehre_wahrheit



Series: Project Bloodlines [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Language, Other, and canon self-hate, i swear i rated this teen and up but i should change it for how explicitly these kids swear, literally an interim, lotsa pain, one year anniversary, um... hospitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6125391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehre_wahrheit/pseuds/ehre_wahrheit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happens directly after the events of Spirals, a sort-of connecting work to Demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeeeya. So, since I probably won't be able to post anything until I get my life back together, I'll just be posting the parts I have finished before I got into this slump. Uni is killing me, and right now I'm deciding whether to get a Leave of Absence for the next semester or not. Meh.

Bright. Too bright—too many lights—it hurts too much.

Turn it off, turn it off—pain, pain, pain, too much pain.

Red—there’s fire, and then screaming. Loud sobs, coming from nearby, too many sounds happening all at once—an explosion—what’s wrong? What’s happening? _Am I dead? Oh god, please don’t let me be dead—_

Water—unforgiving, frigid water—can’t breath— _I can’t breathe, please let me die_. The building—it’s _falling_ —oh god, two more people, jumping, what are they doing? Are they trying to get themselves _killed_? Moving—moving, moving, and then—

Darkness.

 

**..--..**

 

Sam Winchester usually prides himself in calmness, level-headedness, and rationality—which is far more than he can say for his older brother.

But, _god_ , he’s anything but all those right now.

He’s in Seraph’s medical wing, pacing in the sterile hallway. He hates these hallways—he hates the smell of borax and cleansers, he hates the impersonal looks of other patients, he hates the empathy of the medical staff. Most of all, he hates that he’s probably memorized the topography of this place—which is probably the only wing of Seraph that Sam has ever seen in such intricacy.

He’s biting his nails, which his brother would probably rib at him for if he saw. That thought makes Sam freeze mid-step and he wishes he can just break down and sob again. He would give _anything_ for his brother to be ribbing him about anything right now.

Jess—an Omega who works at the Hospital’s public annex—is there, still coming over on her day off simply to ‘watch over him and make sure he’s okay’. Sam doesn’t even know what the definition for ‘okay’ is right anymore. He was taken off of the board the night Dean and his Handler went off to physically rescue Adam, and he didn’t even _know_ they were going to do it.

When they’d brought three—four—people in, he’d asked questions, of course—going to the first person he can think of going to, Bobby. When he found out about what they had done—how they had made sure he was off duty on that night, made sure he couldn’t _tech_ for the mission—he’d thrown what he can only identify as a bitch fit, and no one even blames him.

Fucking _Pellegrino_ gave him the whole week off.

But it’s been three _days_ , and he can’t even see either of his brothers yet. None of the doctors are even giving him any news—if they’re still _alive_ —and it’s eating him up. He can’t do this, he _can’t_ do it all on his own. He needs Adam, his baby brother, to baby, to protect, to give him a reason not to just give up to his incurable array of illnesses. He needs _Dean_ , his big brother, to look up to, to ask for protection and help from, to make sure he takes his meds and does exercise and eats his vegetables, even though he grimaces about it.

He needs his brothers— _they can’t leave me alone with Dad. It’s unfair_.

John had gone to see him at Dean’s apartment—according to him, he’s known Sam would end up at Dean’s room, sobbing, when he found out he’d gotten ‘home’. But John wasn’t there to comfort him, put a hand on his shoulder and tell him that everything’s going to be okay, that his big brother and baby brother will both be fine, that they’ll walk out of the hospital together, laughing and joking, like how brothers should be.

No, because John Winchester doesn’t do that. The only Winchester who’s ever been man enough to do so was Dean— _is_ Dean—because John isn’t a man, he’s a fucking _monster._

John went to Sam not to reassure him, but to order him around—just like he’s always done. Now that Dean is, for the moment, out of commission, he’s going to choke Sam.

Sam had, true to form, thrown a bitch fit and threw John out, locking up Dean’s apartment and sobbing into his big brother’s pillow like the baby that he is. And then he’d manned up, went to the hospital, and he’s been here every day.

There’s another man, too—an Alpha, though he’s short and stocky. He’s anxiously been biting into copious and seemingly infinite amounts of candies, and it makes Sam cringe to think of how long—or short—amount of time would it only be until he develops diabetes. They’ve largely ignored each other, and Sam had only talked to Jess, Jo and Benny when they came to visit, and Ellen and Gwen.

It is Bobby who comes, and Sam is surprised when the old, gruff man claps the other Alpha on the shoulder and gives him an encouraging smile.

“They’ll do fine,” Bobby says, throws a look at Sam, and cocks his head towards them. Sam sighs, gives Jess a tired—exhausted—smile before approaching the two Alphas. Sam himself is a Beta, so he’s simply been cowering into the protection of his whole Alpha family: Dean, Bobby, Ellen, even _John_. “How you doin’, kid?”

Sam grimaces—something Dean _always_ , without fail, calls a bitch face—before he shakes his head and practically falls against one of the plastic chairs lining the wall. He’s across from the one where he’d been sitting, Jess right there busying herself with her cell phone. “I’m not sure,” he answers honestly, playing with a hole on his ratty old jeans. “I’m—I don’t know, I’m scared, Bobby. They won’t even tell me if either of them is alive.”

Bobby cocks an eyebrow at that. “They’re all alive,” he says, clapping the other Alpha with them on the shoulder again. “This is Gabriel Novak, Dean’s Handler’s older brother,” he introduces. “Gabriel—Sam Winchester.”

Gabriel offers a feeble smile and shoots his hand towards Sam, who shakes it a little before dropping his hand. “Hi,” Sam mutters, and then sniffles. So _this_ is Gabriel Novak. His name is just as legendary as his younger brother’s—and Sam is actually surprised that he isn’t as popular—or notorious—as Dean. He looks up at Bobby again. “How come you know?”

Bobby snorts. “I’m the head honcho for this case, kid,” he answers, rolling his eyes a bit before sighing. Seeing Bobby hunched over is a strange experience—and it mollifies Sam a little. Of course their little family is just as worried about Dean as he is. “I’m trying to get the doctors to talk to you two even just a jiffy. Great big bags of dicks, these people.” He snorts again, derisively this time. “Makes you wonder what crawled up their asses and died.”

Sam smiles, genuinely this time, and jerks to attention when a door to the private sessions wing opens, and out comes a beautiful woman in a white coat—a very familiar woman, actually.

“Pamela,” Sam greets, and he winces at the exhausted tone his voice suddenly takes, grimacing once again.

Even Gabriel cringes in sympathy.

“Hey, kiddo,” Pamela greets, grinning at him in answer. “I think you both deserve a breather from this desperate crawl into anxiety, huh?” Her brown eyes glint at them both, and Sam sees Gabriel flash her a quicksilver smile. Sam is a little disturbed, but is somehow not surprised. Gabriel _is_ known for being a prankster—one of his pranks being placing a call to the local police about a fake drug bust that leads policemen straight to the apartment of a cheating Alpha.

“I think we do, too,” Sam mutters.

Pamela laughs, the sound of it chiming and all the while uncomfortable in such a clinical, impersonal, cold atmosphere. “Both of your brothers are alive and kicking,” she says, ruffling Sam’s hair, much to his chagrin. “And yours is, too,” she adds, giving Gabriel a pointed look. “The fourth one though—well, he’s been dead a while. Probably on the night they came in.”

“Fourth one?” Sam asks, worried, nibbling on his bottom lip. He knows Dean and Castiel asked for help from someone who’s been inside, but he didn’t know they brought the guy in with them. “Who?”

“James Shurley,” Bobby answers, his voice seemingly strained.

He practically _feels_ all three Alphas around him tense—even though everyone is required to repress scents when they leave their designated homes in Seraph, Sam will always know how the air seems to thicken when an Alpha gets angry or distressed.

Living with Dean and John teaches you that.

“Who’s James Shurley?” he asks lowly, slowly, looking up at Pamela first, before looking at Gabriel, and then up at Bobby. No one answers him, and he asks his question again, this time his voice sharper and more commanding than earlier. He’s a Beta, he knows, and he won’t be able to fight a domination show from any of the three Alphas surrounding him, but he doesn’t care. The name is familiar, and he feels a deep seated dread settle in the pit of his stomach.

It’s a name associated with _Dean_ —the brother he’d known before the whole Alistair and up and coming star debacle.

It’s Pamela who seems to give up. She shoots Bobby a look, before saying, “They’re _your_ boys, Robert. You take care of this whole… thing.”

Sam looks up at Bobby, who looks strangely uncomfortable where he stands. He shuffles his weight between his two feet, before crossing his arms over his chest—the tell-tale signs of defensiveness. Sam is thankful he’d taken a psychology course in college—it helps him in his work as tech, but also allows him to do this, to read a person when it matters most.

“Castiel’s older brother.”

Sam starts, eyes flicking to Gabriel, whose face is stony as he stares at the wall by Jess’s head. The blonde Omega is still busying herself with her cell phone. “What?” Isn’t _Gabriel_ Castiel’s older brother? What the actual fuck—

“This place isn’t as black and white as it seems, Sam-o,” Gabriel says, grinning at him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. If anything, the smile makes him look somber. “When Castiel came here, he needed a guardian. It was me or your daddy, so I volunteered.” He swallowed, but looked at Sam in the eye as if challenging him. “I wasn’t going to let a kid under that psycho’s care, no matter how good Seraph looks at him.”

“I wouldn’t, either,” both Bobby and Sam say at the same time, and Gabriel’s eyebrows shoot up.

“But Castiel had a real older brother,” Gabriel continues, his voice low it was almost a mutter. “Thing is, no one told the other they were in the same place. James left, ran away, and Seraph never found him again.”

Sam stares, disbelieving, and looks up at Bobby. Seraph _lost someone_? More importantly—they had (if he listened correctly, separated) brothers under their wings, and they didn’t let either know?

He gulps, nervous, before exhaling loudly.

“Dean-o’s your brother, kid,” Gabriel reminds him, clapping him on the shoulder before letting his head drop back and his the wall behind him. “And John’s your dad. Hopefully no one touches you.”

That doesn’t actually reassure him. He laughs, darkly and emptily, because that’s the only reaction his sudden revelation can pull out of him. “So what am I, some sort of insurance?”

“Yup.”

Sam stands up, and walks away.

He can’t take that—not Gabriel’s frankness, not Bobby’s quiet empathy, not Jess’s concerned looks, not Pamela’s worried silence. He can’t take all of it. But his whole body shakes—it seems to vibrate from an energy he can’t shake—from something shaking deep inside, from the core of him. There’s—

Something’s  shifting, he can _feel_ it.

He walks away from the hospital, his hands fisted on his sides, steps brisk and fast. He ignores Jo when he meets her at the sidewalk—he’ll apologize later—right now he needs to be alone. Maybe being alone is a bad idea—he shouldn’t let himself think. Sam feels like he’s going to—he feels like he’s about to explode, and he doesn’t even know what to do with himself anymore.

That’s all he is to Seraph—insurance, to make sure his big brother doesn’t step out of line.

His father would probably not care, but of course Dean does—that’s all Dean has been doing his whole life. Dean’s always worried about Sam, and then when they found out about Adam, about Adam, too.

Sam stops, so suddenly that the person behind him bumps unto him harshly. It’s an Alpha, and he cusses at Sam, but the Beta couldn’t even muster enough energy to apologize. He feels like he might fall, because his brother’s life is just so _sad_.

He looks up to the sky, thinking, if there’s a God out there, would He be like this? Would He really deal his big brother a fate as sad, as tragic as the one he’s having?

“Why?” he asks, his voice loud enough he seems to be having a conversation. People are looking at him, others gawking, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment. “Why him?”

The world, he decides, _the world is a monster._

 

**..--..**


	2. Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up. He wishes he didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe i haven't posted the rest of this thing yet. i'm sorry, this is long overdue. it has been over a year since the last chapter of Demons. i think the rest of the story is coming along nicely. i'm starting my junior high at uni this August lol how time flies

Everything about him _hurts_ —there’s nothing else to be able to define how he’s feeling. His whole body is aching—and his head is pounding like there’s something deliberately pounding into his skull. Whatever it’s trying to get at, it’s probably that… that weird itch at his core, at his soul, at his very being.

There’s something wrong—he knows there’s something wrong, and his instincts are screaming at him to go check it out. He doesn’t know what to listen to—the instinct telling him to fight, or the instinct yelling at him to fret.

Both are scratching almost violently at his insides, making him writhe where he is—where the fuck is he, anyway?—and he rips his eyes open.

At first he’s disoriented—all he sees is _white_. There’s white everywhere, it’s too bright, someone has to tone down the lights. And then he blinks, and the details slowly come into focus—oh. Oh, he’s in a room—a hospital room, it seems. There’s—there’s an IV stuck into the back of his hand, and he’s lying on scratchy sheets.

He seems to be alone, and when he opens his mouth, the only thing he can articulate is a pitiful whine.

It seems to be enough for someone to barge into his room through the door he couldn’t seem to see properly.

“”mela,” he whines again, thrashing his head back and forth as Pamela comes closer to his bed. Her eyes are wide—but they look relieved, and he feels like shit. Did they think he was dead? They probably did. “’ah-ter,” he begs, but his voice and mouth are so dry that, instead of saying water, he says ‘otter’.

Pamela chuckles, and she runs a soothing hand through his hair. It feels nice—it’s soothing, and motherly, and he closes his eyes and rubs against her palm. Maybe he could ask her to drag Ellen in here—then he can have a _real_ mom. “Shh, Dean,” she whispers. “I’m so fucking glad you’re alive, you asshole. I’ll give you water in a bit, alright?”

Dean grins, but he grimaces in pain right after. What the fuck happened? His face feels _horrible_.

“You got—cuts and bruises,” Pamela answers, as if she read his mind. He sees her shrug, before she walks to his IV stand and pick up a clipboard on a table somewhere to his left. “Well, this is going to be good news. Sam’s gonna _freak_.”

“Shit,” he groans, and they both give a bark of laughter.

Trust Dean Winchester to curse better than beg for essentials.

Speaks well for who he is, actually, and he suddenly wants to burrow into his pillow.  But _shit,_ he forgot all about motherfucking Sammy! He sighs dejectedly, watching as Pamela busies herself around him, checking so many things he feels dizzy.  He blinks, and then—then it hits him.

“Er’s Cas?” he says, almost choking on his words, his mouth and throat are that dry. “Adam?”

Pamela looks at him critically, before shrugging again. “Castiel is in the next room. Adam’s in the one after his. I’ll get you water, see if you can walk to them, alright?”

Dean nods, thankful, before he closes his eyes again.

He’s only been awake a total of ten minutes, but it seems to drain him. He absently notes that Pamela has just left his room, and then he hears the door open again.

“Mr. Winchester?” calls a small, nervous, familiar voice. Dean opens his eyes, and he sees a blond kid, who looks scared. “Dr. Barnes sent me to give you a cup of water.”

Dean is far too grateful to feel embarrassed when the kid feeds him the straw. He sucks cold, soothing water and he barely stops a moan from slipping out of his mouth at the feeling of finally having something to soothe his dry mouth and throat.

He whines pitifully when the kid pulls the straw away before Dean can consume the whole cup, and he giggles. “Oh, sorry,” the kid says, eyes widening. “Um—I’m—Samandriel Philippe,” the kid says, and Dean takes a moment for the information to register.

“Shit, you’re that kid I yelled at over the phone,” he says, blinking, thankful that at least he can talk properly now. “I’m sorry.”

Samandriel blushes, and shakes his head before offering the straw again. “You can drink water—but your body has been out for almost three days, so you’ll have to take it slow.”

Dean takes a slug of water before clearing his throat when Samandriel pulls the straw away again. “Three days? Am I the last one up?”

The kid nods. “Mr. Novak and Mr. Milligan woke up within six hours of each other, yesterday. They are both now slowly being fed solid food. Water?”

“Please.” Dean drinks, and then asks more questions.

The kid seems an okay guy, a little shy, but confident in his answers, especially in his field. He feels a strange sense of pride suddenly, and it’s weird ‘coz he doesn’t even know the kid properly. But he’s an Omega, and he’s in the medical field—he’s the personal assistant of one of Seraph’s best doctors.

That’s something.

“Got a nickname?” Dean asks exasperatedly, the third time he struggles to say Samandriel’s name.

The kid giggles, stops, blushes, and then fumbles with himself. It’s just—it’s _adorable_.

“How old are you?”

“Uh—I’m twenty, sir,” he answers, “and—and you can call me Alfie. You did, once.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, I remember. Who named you, anyway?”

Alfie bites his lip and looks down. He looks—he looks chastised, and Dean suddenly feels bad about even asking. It’s—that shit is private. He wants to hit himself over the head for his insensitivity.

“I’m sorry—”

“It was my choice,” Alfie interrupts, and he looks up at Dean with wide, scared eyes. “Why am I telling you?”

Dean furrows his brows, and then feels suddenly awkward when the kid continues to stare at him.

“I—I’ve always envied Sam,” Alfie says lowly, and Dean feels that pull of protectiveness he always feels over his little brother. “He—he has you. I’ve never had anyone.”

“Alfie—”

Alfie laughs, mirthlessly, and Dean is so disturbed by the sound that he drops all reservations and lets out a growl of frustration. It doesn’t seem to scare the kid off this time, because he sobers up and looks at the ceiling. “I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t be telling _anyone_. Why am I telling you?”

“Hey,” Dean says, his voice soft. “Hey, it’s alright. You want to talk? Go ahead. I’ll listen.”

Alfie shakes his head. “I can’t—it’s unprofessional.” He takes a deep breath, holds it for a minute, before looking down at Dean again. The Alpha is almost afraid at the sunny smile the younger Omega is giving him. “I assume you’d want to see your brother?”

Dean wants to bring it up. He wants to ask the kid—he feels _protective_ of him, somehow, it doesn’t matter that they’ve only just personally met. But the kid obviously doesn’t want to think about it. Maybe Dean was wrong—maybe Seraph is still clutching onto his job as hardly as it does to all other Omegas, that just a simple slip up will cause them to lose the only thing probably holding them together. So he nods. “Yeah, I’d like to see him. But can I go see Cas first?”

“Of course. Do you need assistance?”

Dean takes stock of his appearance. He’s wearing a hospital-issued tunic, but the sweatpants he’s wearing he can recognize as his own. He shakes his head, and then slowly rises, wincing every now and then before he gets on his ass. Alfie is there, holding on to his elbow, one arm around his back and clutching at his waist.

Dean gives him an amused smirk. “I’m almost twice as large as you, nurse,” he says, “sure you can support me?”

“I can try,” Alfie answers, but his voice waivers with the strain it takes him to support Dean until he’s on his feet.

Dean grabs onto his IV stand, glad that it stays standing, but he winces at the sting the needle in his hand sends up his arm. Alfie bends down and flicks something at the foot of the stand, but suddenly Dean is rolling the thing around. He smiles gratefully at the Omega and starts walking slowly.

He’s still wobbly, his knees always on the verge of buckling and sending him sprawling into the cold tile of the hospital floor.

When he finally reaches the door of his room, his nose is assaulted with the smells of the hospital—borax, bleach, cotton, and that sick smell that you just can’t get rid of, whatever you do. His trek down the hallway is slow, and he is watched with careful eyes—by Alfie, who is leading him to where Cas is, and by other nurses as well.

It’s strange when he doesn’t feel bad about it—he doesn’t feel small, or belittled—he feels _cared for_ , as he slowly shuffles down the tiles.

He meets the eyes of one nurse in particular, who is biting her lip in worry, and he flashes her a smile. He clutches at his abdomen—he can feel stitches on his stomach, and something itching at his chest, and that seems to be what worries the nurse.

“Do you—” she starts, and then stops, and then seems to muster enough courage to finish her sentence. “Just press the call button when you want painkillers, okay?”

“Sure, nurse,” Dean answers, his voice strained in pain and concentration as he moves forward. All the nurses scattered about are watching him, his progress and his injuries, and he doesn’t feel anything about having so many eyes on him.

Alfie is standing beside a door, looking at him with furrowed brows and intense eyes. Dean grins at him, and takes a deep breath when Alfie opens the door for him. He can’t actually smell anyone—when anywhere near Seraph’s designated Neutral zones—or those zones where having too many people scenting will just be detrimental to their productivity—you are required to wear scent repressors—but he couldn’t help but hope he can scent his mate.

He fights not to slump when he couldn’t.

He shoots Alfie a thankful smile as he crosses the threshold, and he’s surprised when no one follows him inside.

 

Cas is sitting on the bed, leaning against the half of the bed raised to make it look like a large, comfortable recliner.

The Omega hasn’t heard the door open or Dean enter yet, and the Alpha wishes to keep it that way for a while longer. He hasn’t seen his own face yet, but he knows it feels horrible, so it must look such, and he feels like his whole body has been put through a grinder—he’s surprised he’s even still alive.

He forces himself not to think about the fourth image that pops into his head.

He takes a deep, quiet breath, and continues watching his mate.

Cas is beautiful—even with a yellowing bruise on his temple, half-circling on his eye. There’s a cut on his cheekbone, too, and his jaw has three stitches he can see. He, too, has an IV stuck into one of his hands, both of which are resting limply on his lap. He is covered from the waist down with the hospital’s thin flannel blanket, and he, too, is wearing a white patient’s tunic.

He’s looking out the window, blue eyes muted and emotionless.

It tugs at Dean’s heart that he couldn’t even protect his own mate from that look, but he knows what brought it on. It’s the first thought that crossed his mind, too, when he woke up— _he’s_ the first   image the crossed his mind when he first woke up.

He’s just   better at compartmentalizing when he needs it most.

He licks his lips, which are just as chapped and dry at he thought, before he moves forward. Cas doesn’t acknowledge him at all—maybe he thinks it’s a nurse? But Dean continues to shuffle forward, the roll of his IV stand’s wheels on the tiles silent, more quiet the thuds of his footfalls.

Cas’s side guards are down, and he walks right over to the bed, sitting on the mattress and keeping his eyes on his mate.

It’s only when his body touches the Omega’s that he flinches and turns, looking disturbed for a second before all emotions seem to get wiped off of his face.

Dean forces a smile onto his face, ignoring the pang of pain that blank look lances through his whole being. “Hey, Cas,” he whispers, moving a bit so he won’t be touching the Omega. Maybe he hates Dean just as much he hates himself—after all, Dean couldn’t even protect Cas’s brother. He couldn’t protect the one person who probably means something to the Omega—he’s probably the last person Cas wants to be around.

He doesn’t know what pushed him to come here, other than the selfish instincts of an Alpha who wants to be near his mate.

They’re both quiet, Cas not even answering his greeting, and Dean just stares at the wall. There’s a picture hanging there, of a man and a woman and a child, playing in a beautiful green field. He remembers his mother, the look in her eyes he’d always fooled himself into thinking was warmth, and sighs.

“I’m just—I wanted to see you,” Dean admits, feeling small and pathetic as he smiles deprecatingly. “It’s the first thing I’ve ever felt, when I was conscious enough to figure what it was I was feeling.” _Not necessarily my first thought, though. Congratulations, you and your brother just pushed both of mine off of my own head._ “I wanted to know how you were. I’ll go check on Adam. It was nice seeing you though.” _Even if I know you don’t want to see my ugly fucking mug, probably ever, ever again. I’ll get lost now, and I’ll make sure we never see each other._ He shrugs. “It’s just gon’ be six months. See ya.”

He struggles to get up, taking deep breath as pain lances through him again—not just physical pain this time, he surmises, but emotional pain as well. He doesn’t want to move on, he wants _Cas_ , but… but well, Cas doesn’t want him. He’ll just have to live with that—he’s lived with that his whole life, right?

He sighs.

And slowly, excruciatingly slowly, shuffles his way towards the door. He looks back, one last time, he promises himself, but Cas is looking out the window again, his eye as emotionless as when Dean first entered.

Dean leaves his mate with a dejected sigh.

Cas has six months—he’ll probably die, but he probably wants that better than he does being mated to a fucking psychopathic Alpha. That’s the thing about mating an Omega—anybody, actually—on the Spiral. If you leave, or if you fucking die, the other only has six more months to live.

It’s fucking unfair.

Alfie is still there, leaning against the opposite wall, when Dean exits the room. He tries to smile, but doesn’t quite manage it, and gestures for him to continue down the hallway.

Alfie is quiet, nods, and leads Dean to Adam’s room.

Maybe he can apologize to Cas later.

Yeah, he should.

Then maybe, maybe he should do this world a favor and just fucking kill himself.

 

Adam looks like shit, if Dean is going to be honest.

His cheeks are hollow, eyes too deep into their sockets. The tunic he’s wearing is far too big on him, the collar slipping off one of his shoulders, and he growls in anger and frustration when he sees Adam’s collarbone practically carved off of his pale body. There are bandages, too, crisscrossing his baby brother’s torso and neck and arms and whole fucking body, and Dean feels angry and frustrated and he just wants to fucking scream at the whole world.

It’s unfair—why did it have to take away shit and hand it to his family?

They could hand it to him—he doesn’t care, god knows he deserves it—but his little brothers? His mother? None of them deserve this kind of life.

“Hey, kid,” he rasps, as he shuffles closer to Adam and sits on the foot of his bed.

“Hi Dean,” Adam answers. He sniffles, and then raises his arms, like a child asking to be picked up. “Can you hug me?” His voice is small and meek, and Dean can’t bring himself to even tease his baby brother. He just couldn’t. He scoots forward and brings his brother closer to his body, twisting so he’s leaning against the bed and holding his brother to his chest, like he’d wanted to hold his mate.

Adam starts sobbing as soon as he has his face smashed against Dean’s neck.

Dean runs his fingers through Adam’s sticky, grimy hair, kisses it gently and tells him everything’s fine, everything’s okay, even though he doesn’t even _know_ what okay means anymore.

“I want to see Sam,” Adam whispers, a few minutes later, when Dean surmises he’s all cried out. “I—I was so scared, Dean, when they took me—” he lets out a dry sob “—and then they _locked me up and—_ ”

Dean shushes the kid in his arms, holding onto him tighter as he cries, and he lets out his own pained sob, as he cries, once again, for himself, for his brothers, his family, his mate, his life, and the future that just isn’t meant to be.

There are just so many things that could— _should_ —have been, but never would be.

He holds Adam, just like that, both of them sobbing and holding onto each other, trusting the other to ground them and keep them from going too far away to be reached.

 

**..--..**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i'm so sorry)


	3. Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is a horrible, horrible monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here, 500 words of angst + 8 words of fluff lol

Castiel is a horrible, horrible human being.

 _You’re not even human,_ a voice in his head whispers malevolently. _You’re a monster, Castiel. You know it’s the truth._

He knows it’s the truth.

He—he didn’t know how to act, to react, when Dean had come into his room, looking so beautiful yet ragged and perfect and everything Castiel has ever wanted. He couldn’t articulate the right emotions to be able to tell Dean how much his presence just soothed Castiel so _much_.

He doesn’t even know why he’s feeling this way.

Castiel knows that Dean had done his best—that Dean is not to blame for anything that went to shit that night—so why is he giving Dean Hell? The Alpha doesn’t deserve this—he doesn’t deserve the kind of treatment Castiel keeps giving him. Actually, he doesn’t deserve Castiel at all.

He’s thankful Dean is an Alpha—he can take another mate, once Castiel is out of the picture. The thought sends a bolt of pain through his chest, making his heart twist uncomfortably and his stomach turn in a bizarre pattern that has him gasping and grasping his abdomen.

He doesn’t deserve Dean _at all_ , but he’s still holding onto him. It’s so unfair.

But—but he got Dean first. If Dean still wants him, why can’t he get to keep him? He’s already a monster anyway—what’s wrong with one more thing making him much, much worse?

“Gabriel,” he breathes, whines, really, and squeezes his eyes. His hand wraps around his other wrist, around the pattern that is beautiful yet deadly, the illness that will start killing him the moment he pulls himself away from Dean. “I need you here, Gabe.”

He wishes his brother is here—either of them, _any_ of them. He needs his big brother to hold him close and tell him it’s okay, that there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be protected like a little baby. He wishes he can scream and beg for Dean to come back and hold him, to reassure him with kisses to his temple and sweet nothings whispered to his ear.

Castiel sobs, his hand fisting around the thin blanket covering his lap.

“Dean,” he breathes, his heart starting to speed up. He can feel it thud painfully against his chest, and he clutches around it, but all he can say is—“Dean. Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean—DeanDeanDeanDeanDean—”

He doesn’t even remember reaching for the call button, or pressing it, or the flood of people in white rushing into his room, or the beautiful woman running a hand through his hair and soothing him, letting him know she’ll get Dean.

All Castiel can remember is the soothing, loving touch of his mate, and breathing apologies unto his skin, and begging for forgiveness as he curls on top of Dean’s chest and clutches at his tunic possessively—obsessively.

He feels Dean wrap an arm around his waist and press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m a monster,” Castiel sobs quietly, and Dean tenses. He prepares himself for Dean inevitably pulling away, but instead all he gets is a soft kiss to his nose and silent words that make him sob even harder.

“Yeah, but you’re my monster.”

 _Yes,_ he wants to proclaim, to scream and shout so the whole world can know, _I’m yours. Always, and forever, Dean Winchester, I am yours. Please, please, please._

But he keeps quiet—he lets the silence rein, closes his eyes, and immediately blacks out.


	4. Adam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alternatively titled, John Is An Asshole

When he wakes up, the first and only thing he can think of is _‘I want my big brother_ ’.

He’d asked, too, over and over to see them—but the nurses all just look at him all uncomfortable like and continue checking him up while the doctors tell him they can’t let him see any other patient yet. He whines, he thrashes, he yells—none of that work.

He’s been awake for what he approximates is four hours when the door to his hospital room opens and John Winchester strides in.

Adam doesn’t know how he feels about his father and his connection to the reason he was kidnapped. He isn’t sure _directly_ , of course, if John actually had any explicit involvement, but still—he had heard his father’s name thrown around the place so casually he has no doubts they kidnapped him to aggravate his father.

“Sam’s worried about you” are his first words, before plonking unceremoniously lone chair beside Adam’s bed.

“I’m sure,” he mutters, because as much as he wants Sam, he wants Dean more. Dean is—he has always been the image for safety and security Adam had in his head. Dean was barely twelve when they met, with Sam huddling like a baby behind him, but he was already big and strong and he’d punched one of the neighborhood kids who were bullying Adam at that time.

They didn’t even know they were brothers until they walked Adam home and there John was, in all his glory, finally talking to Kate again after five years.

Dean, Sam, and Adam never lost contact since.

Every single time Adam sees Dean again, his big brother is always stronger, cooler, somehow more dangerous than when he’d last seen him. Sam, of course, will probably outgrow Dean, but Adam will always, always want Dean when he needs—wants—something.

Dean has proven himself once, and he’s proven himself again now for rescuing Adam.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t wish for it to be his father to rescue him. He knows about Seraph, understands the politics; but he still doesn’t know why it’s his brother he prays for and not his father. He closes his eyes—realizes that it’s because his brother had been the bigger father to him than his real one, and it makes him angry all of a sudden.

“How are you, sonny boy?” John Winchester asks, his voice and tone perfunctory, and Adam just wants to punch the living daylights out of him, father or not. “I hope Dean-o didn’t turn your head off harder than before. What have I told you? You’re better off here.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Adam all but growls, glaring out the window and trying to calm himself. He wants to kick John out, or at least tell the man to leave him alone, but he doesn’t know how to go about it… _politely_. But who says he needs to be polite, right? He can go straight to the point and forget about the present consequences.

He can get away with it, he knows he can.

He doesn’t bother answering the rest of John’s questions.

“Adam—” John begins, sounding exhausted and antsy, but Adam interrupts him before he can articulate more than his name.

“No, dad,” he answers, feeling just as tired and just as antsy. “I—I want this life, and I’ve been having a good one all these years. Something just—something just went wrong, but you’re not going to pull me into this mess and lock me up like you did to Sam and Dean.

“They got me out—I’m staying out.”

John growls, yells an expletive, and leaves.

Adam is actually relieved when he does, and he sags back onto his sheets.

A few hours later a nurse comes by and starts feeding him solid food, which take time to chew and force down his throat. And then there are meds, and water, and more silence around him—he’s sure he’s going to go crazy—

And then there’s his big brother, and he’s holding him and they’re both crying.

But he’s safe, he knows that—he’s sure of it. Safe from the big bad world, from the monsters that lurk in the shadows, from the nightmares that follow in the silence.

He sobs again, when they drag Dean away, saying another patient needs him—but doesn’t Adam, too? Doesn’t he need his big brother more than some ‘other patient’? But Dean just kisses his forehead and promises to drop back later.

Adam lets him go, lays down, and lets himself some rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i write stories where John is an ok dad but he's just a doucheface in this universe gdi


	5. Gabriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol tbh i was already leaning towards revolutionary action even before i started college

_They’ll let you see him soon._

Gabriel tries to soothe himself with the mantra in his head, picturing the baby brother who isn’t his, fine and talking to him, just as sassy and sarcastic as always.

He misses his little brother—it’s been almost two months now, and he’s only talked to Cassie about two, three times during that time frame. No, he doesn’t believe that Dean kept him in a tight leash (Gabriel knows that his little brother would still do what he wants, rules or no rules, and he knows that firsthand) so he doesn’t really know why Cassie didn’t try to contact him more often. Was the mission really as complicated as the rumors said it was? They _did_ send Dean Winchester, so yeah—maybe, maybe it was.

He worries, again, but he reminds himself of his mantra, that he’ll _see him soon_. He’s a head, too—though a few tiers under John Winchester, who just traipsed in like a fucking daisy—so maybe he can get to manipulate protocol. Just a minute to look at his little brother, touch him, just to reassure himself that his little brother really was back, that Cas wasn’t leaving him any time soon.

He keeps seeing Sam Winchester—the rumors about the kid’s genius are almost as bad as his brother’s notoriety—and this blonde Omega he keeps himself busy with, and the smiles at them a little wistfully. He himself hasn’t found his ‘one’, but he hopes to find him or her soon. He’s beginning to feel left out and empty, if he was going to be honest.

He doesn’t acknowledge Sam, and the young man doesn’t acknowledge him either. They’re just two people worried about two other people in there. He wants so very badly to go inside and just—just demand that he get to see his brother, and force them to let Sam see his, too. He closes his eyes.

He’s tired, stressed, angry, frustrated… he doesn’t really know how else he’s allowed to feel. Neither Michael nor Lucifer is responding to his pleas in any unambiguous way, and it’s just their usual behavior but them being shush even more, even _worse_ , about this edgy mission? It’s making him feel cagey.

He feels like his skin is far too stretched to hold him, and he just wants to—he doesn’t know.

Shed his skin or something.

It’s when Robert Singer drops the bomb—he’d finally had a conversation with the younger Winchester, and then this, fucking _this_ —about James Shurley that he feels like his whole world is—about to go, or probably is—crumbling right before his very eyes.

He feels scared, but at the same time incensed.

_They’re trying to keep this from me._

But that’s impossible—Michael lost James, he said so himself. He promised Gabe the assurance that Cassie and Jimmy will _never_ meet, not in their plane of reality—and that’s when it hits him that maybe, maybe this wasn’t something Michael or Lucifer planned.

This is something either Castiel or Dean Winchester pulled off.

How?

He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as Sam walks away from him, from Robert Singer, from Pamela Barnes. He tries to shake off the ominous feeling he’s beginning to get from this whole thing, but he’s not sure he can—after all, this _is_ Seraph.

As much as possible, nothing is coincidental.

He gives Bobby and Pam a hasty farewell, staring wistfully at the doors for another second before rushing out of the hospital, straight towards the heart of Seraph.

His—and his little brother’s, he knows—life is about to change, and he knows the two people who are going to be responsible, if not going to be spectators of the whole fiasco. He takes a deep breath, looks up at the place that has been his home and sanctuary for years.

 _No,_ he decides, _this place isn’t a sanctuary—it’s a dark place that sucks our lives out of our own control._

He squares his shoulders, and walks forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ come take to me pls i'm a lonely caterpillar ](http://ehre-wahrheit.tumblr.com)


End file.
